“Are you going to be okay?” I ask him.
He exhales, blowing the breath dramatically out of his lips. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I need to spend time with her.”
My gaze flicks to the window of Donna’s room, the floral curtains fluttering against the glass, and I wonder if she’s watching us from her chair. Steven follows my gaze, and so many feelings ripple through him—even without saying a word, I can see them settling deep into his heart and breaking it.
After last night, I didn’t know what the right thing to do was. Part of me wanted to run, and part of me wanted to take Steven with me, to run from all of it together. But this morning, I heard Donna crying. Tom tried to soothe her, but nothing worked. She was so lost it was heartbreaking.
That was when I knew. Even if Steven coming home with us might be best for me, for us, him staying here is what’s best for her. And right now, choosing her, even when it hurts, is the kind of selflessness we need.
Steven rests his forehead against the door, eyes pinched shut, and lets out a shaky breath. “I hate this,” he says, and I don’t know if he means his mom or us.
I press my palm to his cheek, and he leans into it, letting me sweep my thumb along his skin. I don’t know what to say to make any of this easier for him. Maybe leaving him here feels cruel, but he knows, deep down, it’s what he has to do.
“I’ll really miss you, Em,” he says with his eyes still closed. The words fade like he wants to say more but doesn’t.
“I’ll miss you too.”
Chapterthirty-seven
Steven
Everyoneknowsthatphrase…apicture is worth a thousand words.
It used to drive me crazy. It always felt ridiculous to think a blurry Polaroid could say anything more than what someone was doing or wearing. But now, staring at this worn photo of my dad holding the twins in the hospital, I’m begging for those words. Even just a hundred words. Anything that might bring it all back to me.
“Did you ever go to sleep?” Shayna yawns as she shuffles into the kitchen, wearing a bright-yellow bathrobe and her typicalI hate morningsscowl. Without warning, she flips on the overhead kitchen light, blasting my retinas.
“Yeah, sure.” I don’t look up, squinting to focus on the photo. I drag my thumb along its soft, frayed edge. It’s well loved. Dad probably held it in his wallet for far too long.
“You’re going to drive yourself crazy,” she murmurs, pouring two cups of coffee and sliding one toward me.
“I’m already going crazy. May as well do my homework.”
She snorts. “You’re not in high school anymore, Steven.”
I shrug, trying to ignore the aching pulse that’s settling in the center of my head.
“You won’t make any progress on no sleep.” She eyes my hands as they press into the tender spot at my temples. “I’m serious,” she adds. “You’re going to make everything worse if you force this.”
I scoff. “I’ve already done that, so what could this hurt?”
“What are you talking about?”
I glare at her, irritated by her confusion, but she only waits.
“My wife left, Shayna.” My voice rises, but she doesn’t even flinch. “How much worse could it get?”
“Steven, she went home,” she says gently. “Youbothagreed her leaving for a bit was best, so you could be here with Mom. She’s giving you space. That’s not the same thing.”
“I think she was already going to leave me,” I whisper so quietly it could’ve been in my head. Like, if no one really hears it, it won’t be true.
“What?” Shayna blinks then sets her coffee down and crosses her arms. “Well… What’d you do to make her want to leave you?”
I gape at her. “Why do we automatically assume this is my fault?”
She arches a brow, lips twitching like she’s holding back a smile. I have no idea what’s funny. Instead of answering, she takes a long, obnoxiously loud sip of her coffee, letting the silence do the talking.
Groaning into my hands does nothing for my mood. Neither does scrubbing at my prickly jaw or bloodshot eyes. But I do it anyway. Again and again.
